


To Well-Founded Love

by AlightWithHappiness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24560842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlightWithHappiness/pseuds/AlightWithHappiness
Summary: Evans stared down at Sirius, one hand on her hip, the other waving her wand to direct the five platters of waffles rotating around her head. "Black," she snapped, pointing a foot at the red (and slightly smoking) letter in his hand, "If you think anyone in this House cares what your purebitch mum has to say about you, then you're dumber than Potter."This is a story of friendship and Jily and bad jokes and awkward flirting and growing up in the midst of a war that threatens all of that. Disclaimer: this world and these wonderful people are JK's.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This fic is a rewrite of Howlers and Nail Polish, a fic I started and abandoned in high school, because I'm back home and reaaaaaaaally regressing. I'm leaving the old one up in case you want to read it and tell me I've made a grave mistake by changing the beginning. Or, fingers crossed, that you like it better this way? :) 
> 
> This is, first and foremost, a Jily story, but there will be some Wolfstar, and it is also about platonic love between all five of these crazy kids. 
> 
> xoxo
> 
> PS. I use the biracial James headcanon in this fic! Certain people need to be...warned about this...apparently.

_October 22nd, 1977._

When she looked back on that day, Lily Evans couldn’t remember walking from the Great Hall to the headmaster’s office. She’d probably never know how they navigated through the enchanted blackout, when she shed the singed remains of her rainbow dress robes, what in Merlin’s name happened to the Blast-Ended Skrewt. In her memory, it’s as if she woke up wrapped in James Potter’s arms in that gorgeous tower room, the other three Marauders—filthy, exhausted, but grinning—watching them. Sirius’s arm slung over Pete’s shoulder, his other hand in Remus’s.

Finally, James pulled back to look at her. His hands still gripped her arms, as though she might simply tumble to the ground if he let go—clever boy. She probably would. “Lily,” he said quietly. “I have to tell you...Merlin, this is terrible timing, but...Lily, I—”

And then the door burst open and Petunia Evans began to scream.

”HOW DARE YOU?”

Petunia and Mr. and Mrs. Evans stood in the doorway. Lily blinked, trying to grasp the image of her ordinary Muggle family, with their trousers and pagers and fanny packs, getting shepherded into the most magical room in the world by shaggy, fur-coated, pink-umbrella-toting Rubeus Hagrid.

Before she had fully processed the picture, Petunia was screaming again, and this time her parents’ voices joined her. Terror and anger poured out of her family in a devastating rush. They called her ungrateful, cowardly, thoughtless, weak. Things Lily had feared she was deep down, but her mother and father at least had never believed. Then the Marauders were forming ranks around her, yelling back, defending her. 

James’ arm came around her shoulders, as if by squeezing tight enough he could block out the truth. Sirius, Remus and Peter stepped in front of them to yell at her family, but James spoke only to her. “It’s not true, Lily. Today happened _because_ you’re brave, and brilliant, and…”

But he was wrong. She’d endangered everyone she loved, absolutely everyone, for so long. And she had to speak now, even though telling him would break her heart, because the only thing weaker than what she’d already done would be to fail to own up to it now.

She pulled out from under his arm.

“I’m not brave, James,” Lily told him, voice choked by unshed tears. “Of course I’m not.”

“What's that supposed to mean, ‘of course’?!”

“Of course, because…because _I love you best!”_ The words burned her throat. “Because every time I love someone best, I always turn out to be whatever they hate most. Tuney found out I was a—a freak. For Sev, Mudblood. And you, James…”

Meeting his eyes now felt harder than any of the death-defying stunts they’d pulled that day. His face was usually so open to her, but the candlelight flickered and glinted off his specs so that all she knew was that his shoulders were hunched, his mouth frozen open. “I love you more than I ever…” The tears fell in earnest now, and she swiped at them furiously, glad for the excuse not to finish the sentence. Because she was scared. Like a coward. “You hate cowards. Of course that’s what I am.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at her, face unreadable. Her breath came in pants, and he barely seemed to breathe at all, and _God_ , surely he would speak. Surely he would say _something_ , end this interminable silence.

Just as the pause became unbearable, Lily’s tiny blond mother shoved the other three Marauders out of her way like she was parting the Red Sea—if everything wasn’t so awful, the look on Sirius’s face would’ve been priceless—and came to a stop with a pale-pink-painted finger aimed directly at James’s face.

“Sit _down_!” she snarled, sounding so intensely _Mum_ that all four boys, not just James, obeyed her. His face was still blank. “This has nothing to do with any of you. This is about our family. And our daughter’s betrayal of it.”

Lily was crying again. “I’m so sorry,” she said again and again, “God, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you could do this—”

“—Seven years, and you never saw fit to _mention—_ ”

“—I wanted to tell you—”

“—Oh, God, the fire at the Callaghans’—”

“—I don’t have an excuse, it’s pathetic—”

“—I didn’t ask for a freak for a sister! I don’t deserve to pay the price for your cowardice—”

“If your name is Evans, SHUT _UP!_ ” James roared, and somewhere along the way he had stood back up. He was speaking to all of them, but his eyes blazed only into Lily’s. Both his hands were fisted, one yanking at his hair, the other by his side. 

“I’m _sick_ of this. Lily is the bravest person I’ve ever met. Don’t you dare call her a coward, any of you, because I don’t even want to think about what that makes me.”

“Or me,” said Peter. 

“Or me,” said Sirius.

“Nor I,” said Remus. Sirius rolled his eyes.

James finally looked away from Lily, at her family, and flicked his wand so that chairs slid from the corners of the room to rest at their heels. “Sit down,” he said coldly. “You’re angry because you didn’t know the full story? Fine. We,” he gestured to the three boys behind him, “are going to tell it to you. And when we’re finished, maybe you’ll be halfway to understanding why I...why she’s the…” Hazel eyes found green again. “What a bloody spectacular woman Lily Evans is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prologue is...a lil weird, and prob makes no sense to you yet. I went back and forth a lot abt whether to include it, but I think it does a pretty good job of drawing these characters and setting the mood of this story. The mood is emotional whiplash, in case that wasn't clear.  
> Also, the 6th-year versions of these characters you meet next chapter have a Lot of growing up to do before they get here. I hope the Jily hints will tide you over through the slow burn. Review? :)


	2. Mother(s) Dearest

_Sorry for being a prat._

“No.”

_Want you to know I wouldn’t have done it except-_

“No.”

_Evans, you’ve got to admit I’ve got better arms than the Giant Squid, even if I sometimes use them for crap purposes-_

“ARGH!” James Potter balled up his parchment and flung it across his room. The wad landed right in the wastepaper basket, his seventh perfect shot in a row, but the poor boy barely gloated.

Since coming home from his fifth year at Hogwarts three days before, James had stayed intentionally, frenetically busy every moment. He had known, deep down, that as soon as he stopped for breath he would find himself here: one in the morning, inkwell running dry, hand cramping, rubbish bin overflowing as he tried and failed to write the perfect letter to Lily Evans.

The letter had a Herculean job. Evans used to float through the halls like a fairy princess, but since The Snape Incident, she just walked. She used to treat James like a puppy who’d just done a wee on the carpet, but now he felt as if he’d bitten the baby and been sent back to the pound.

It wasn’t James’ fault – _it wasn’t!_ She was a right twit blaming him for any of it – but he was going to fix it, fix her, with this letter.

And, bonus! It would turn her madly in love with him.

James had just dipped his quill and pulled out a new sheet – eighth time’s the charm, said people so far from the charm they could be Squibs – when the fireplace behind him roared, crackled, and ejected a very sweaty and slightly green Sirius Black onto his hearth.

James was out of his chair in a moment, grinning widely even as he surreptitiously moved a framed photo of Lily out of his mate’s eyeline. “Alright! Who’d you piss off and why wasn’t I invited?”

“Can I spend the night?” Sirius’ voice was small, and James’ grin faltered. Something was off.

Sirius was James’ best mate, and the handsomest wizard in their year at Hogwarts, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him now. The sheen of sweat turned his face pallid and his hair lank. His upper lip trembled, his left eye twitched incessantly, and his hands fluttered strangely along his body, patting, rubbing, pinching random slices of skin.

“’ Course. What happened?”

“Can I…how many…“ Sirius swallowed. “What about all the nights?”

 _His parents._ What an idiot James had been to think it could be anything else. White-hot rage flashed behind his eyes, and he dove for the fireplace. “I’ll fucking kill them,” he roared, but Sirius jumped in front of him, shoved him back.

James stopped. “I—of course you can stay,” he said finally, staring hard at Sirius. “Always. Obviously.” He turned toward the door and yelled, “DAD! MUM!” and in seconds, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter appeared in the door, frantically rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

Both Potters looked younger than their sixty years, except for deep smile lines. Fleamont was a lanky, slightly barmy Welshman whose pale arms were permanently rainbow-speckled, the remnants of a thousand failed potions experiments on the way to the hair care empire that had made his fortune. Euphemia, on the other hand, was a glamorous Nigerian ex-Auror clad in a gorgeous, shimmering nightgown of blue and bronze, the only shades she ever wore. She had written to Dumbledore in protest when James was placed in Gryffindor because she thought he too looked better in the Ravenclaw color palette.

James threw an arm around Sirius’ shoulders and squeezed. Sirius flinched, but James didn’t let go. “Mum, Dad, Sirius lives with us now.”

His parents blinked. They looked at each other. They looked at Sirius. Then Euphemia Potter strode forward, gripped Sirius’s face in her perfectly manicured hands and declared: “I always knew being disgustingly rich would come in handy one day.”

Sirius made a noise somewhere between a gulp and a laugh. “I didn’t think—I mean, you don’t have to—"

“Oh, shut up, you ridiculous boy!” Fleamont cried, and he pulled Sirius and Euphemia into a tight embrace. James breathed a sigh of relief that he thought was silent, but which made Euphemia reach out a hand and yank him in too. When they finally let go, Sirius turned away hurriedly, muttering something about hair in his mouth, but rubbing at his eyes.

“Blueberry pancakes, right, Sirius?” Euphemia asked, suddenly business-like, and he blinked. “Your favorite breakfast?” Sirius nodded, and she squeezed him again. “Then I expect to see you in my kitchen before noon tomorrow.”

James, meanwhile, waged a silent but very aggressive war with himself about whether or not he should whine about this blatant favoritism because

On the one hand, he _hated_ blueberry pancakes,

But on the other hand, Sirius needed his favorite food more than James did right then,

But on the first hand, nobody made French toast the day James came home,

But on the second hand, he didn't want Sirius to think James begrudged him anything because he didn't, obviously,

But then he realized that under normal circumstances he would complain (he decided not to spend any time contemplating what a prat that made him), and more than anything else what Sirius needed right then was to know that this wasn't weird for James, this was perfectly normal because they were brothers. He resolved to whine tomorrow, vociferously and for as long as possible.

 _What a generous friend I am_ , James thought happily.

Eventually Fleamont and Euphemia left the boys alone, only for Fleamont to pop back in a moment later. “I just remembered, last Hogwarts term we got a bit lonely, and—Sirius, you’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”

The boys didn’t stop laughing until Fleamont was back in his bedroom on the other side of the house.

“So,” Sirius finally said with a shit-eating grin, “I’ll clear out too, shall I? Set up in the guest room so you can get back to your—ahem— _project.”_

“My what?”

“Accio Evans,” Sirius said in answer, and the portrait James thought he had hidden zoomed into his friend’s all-too-gleeful hand. “Far be it from me to interrupt another man’s wank.”

“I wasn’t-” James began indignantly, then thought better of it when Sirius raised an eyebrow. Masturbation wasn’t exactly a hero’s pastime, but it would earn him a lot less abuse from his best mate than writing love letters. “Never mind, I don’t have to defend my impeccable taste,” he said self-importantly, taking the picture back with a flick of his wand. He winked at Lily, who immediately rolled her eyes. “But stay. The combo of Mum and Dad and your hideous mug sort of killed the mood already.”

They talked until dawn started peeking through the shades, but Sirius didn’t say a word about why he was there. James was dying to ask again what had happened, whether he had left or been kicked out. More than once, he considered just grabbing a handful of Floo Powder and diving headlong into the fire to curse them into oblivion.

When James went to brush his teeth, Sirius asked, very, very quietly, if he could have an extra toothbrush. James registered, with a jolt that balled his hands into fists, that Sirius had left home forever with only a wand.

He handed Sirius a toothbrush. "Do you...want to talk about it?" 

"No." 

"Right.” The boys brushed their teeth in silence. Finally, after spitting carefully into the sink, James felt brave enough to speak. “I’m not happy that—I mean, fuck ‘em, obviously, but—I, er—I’m really glad you’re here."

Sirius looked at James in the mirror. "Love you too."

The boys crawled into James' bed together that night. Five minutes passed in silence, then: 

“I can’t believe you don’t think of me when you choke the chicken,” Sirius whispered, and James snorted, eyes still closed.

“Don’t be crass,” he muttered back, “It’s called polishing Prong.”

Sirius smiled. “Want to know what I call it?”

“Do I?”

“Wagging my tail.”

Both boys fell asleep grinning.

* * *

At 10:03 AM on Sirius’s first day in his new home, Sirius and Mr. and Mrs. Potter were in the middle of a quiet breakfast when James Potter quite literally soared into the kitchen, having sailed down a four-story spiral stair rail and busted straight off the end like a champagne cork with bedhead. "DO I SMELL BLUEBERRY?" He bellowed, as if the ridiculous prat hadn't bloody well known what was for breakfast. “ _Blueberry_ pancakes, Mum? You _know_ I hate how they explode in your mouth!”

Sirius, struck by genius, subtly brushed his wand against the side of his own mouth. A moment later, he looked up at James with a shit-eating grin that split his whole face open, ten whole, unpopped blueberries caught between his teeth. Then he chomped down hard, and the blueberry juice shot wildly in all directions, spraying the plate and the table and hitting James smack in the face.

Mrs. Potter tried her absolute best to look disapproving, but Sirius heard her giggle loud and clear. Mr. Potter laughed and laughed and laughed until he finally pulled himself together enough to clap a hand on Sirius' shoulder and yell, "Way to go, son!"

Sirius scoffed. Sure, he was new to the whole happy family shebang, but even paternal pride has a limit. “Don’t you think Prongs’s head is fat enough without a congrats for getting a blueberry facial?”

“Knucklehead,” Mr. Potter laughed, flicking Sirius’ ear. “I was talking to you.”

It was suddenly very hard to swallow.

At 10:09, face finally dry, James was reminded of a similarly excellent prank they once played on Cadbury Mulciber. The boys proceeded to tell the story loudly and flamboyantly, constantly interrupting each other and breaking off to have side conversations about new prank ideas.

At 10:20, Mr. and Mrs. Potter both happened to look away at the same moment and James took the opportunity to hex Sirius' face green in retaliation.

At 10:21, Mrs. Potter confiscated James's wand (for the prank, not the underage magic, the Potters always let them practice, and they were the kind of rich that meant the Ministry didn't look twice).

At 10:25, Mr. Potter gave the wand back with a surreptitious high five.

At 10: 27, James discovered the wand his dad gave him was a fake one when he tried to magically remove the blueberries from his pancakes and instead found himself holding a rubber duck, beginning an intense four-way debate on the function of a rubber duck.

At 10:32, an owl soared in through the open kitchen window and clattered onto the table in front of Sirius' plate, and they all fell quiet. The envelope tied to its leg was bright red, and it bore a legend in his mother's scrawl:

_Mr. S. Black_

_His Blood Traitor Friend's Room_

_79 Astoria Way_

_Harpenden, Hertfordshire_

Twenty-nine minutes of blissful happiness before his mum had to cock it up?

_Yeah, sounds about right._

He reached for the letter – he'd gotten enough of these over the years to know they're quieter if you get it over with quickly – opened it deftly, and listened in stony silence as Mrs. Black wailed and howled and bellowed her fury at her eldest son's betrayal, her assurance that the political wind was blowing her way thanks to the Dark Lord and soon he'd rue the day he left, her declaration that if he ever set foot in their house again, he could expect to be treated like the filthy Mudblood scum he hangs out with, her pain over how he had besmirched the sacred Black family name, her fervent wish that he could just be more like Regulus. She finished with quite a flourish:

"ONE DAY, YOU DISGUSTING MONGREL, YOU WILL BEG ME ON BENDED KNEE FOR PERMISSION TO REENTER THIS FAMILY AND I WILL HAVE THE HONOR AND THE PRIVILEGE OF TELLING YOU TO GO TO HELL AND TAKE YOUR FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR FRIENDS WITH YOU."

Mr. and Mrs. Potter stared at the Howler. Sirius knew those looks: They were horrified, offended, disgusted, but they didn't know what to say. He could sense them taking furtive peeks at him, unsure if he would cry or rage...he wasn't sure what he should do, so he couldn't exactly blame them...

"Well, Merlin's curly nose hair, Mum, why can't you be a cool mom like her?" James's hands were curled into fists, his shoulders were hunched, and his brow was furrowed into an angry line, but when he spoke, it was light and teasing, and his voice cut through the tension at the table like a knife.

In seconds, all four were laughing and joking and by 10:51, Sirius came up with a new idea for what to do with a rubber duck and a certain part of his mother's anatomy. It made James guffaw and Mrs. Potter say, "Sirius!" in what she clearly hoped was a scandalized and disapproving tone, but the effect was kind of ruined by the errant giggle that escaped her husband.

So all in all, the first Howler wasn't so bad. The second one was a different story.

***

He recognized his dad's owl, Abatio, as he skidded down the table at lunchtime, knocking over Mr. Potter's pumpkin juice (probably on purpose, Abatio was a prat), but that didn't mean he was prepared for the red envelope on his leg. Sirius was used to Howlers. He couldn't remember a year at Hogwarts when he hadn't gotten at least one. But two in one day? That was below the belt. He didn't care what his mom thought of him. He _didn't._ He _hated_ her. But…still.

He grabbed it, because there was nothing else to do, was there, but let it talk and listen? And he pulled it open, hating her and Abatio and this stupid Howler but mostly hating the part of himself that was hoping his mum had had a change of heart and this one was gonna be her bellowing "NEVER MIND, SIRIUS, WE LOVE YOU AND WE WERE WRONG! STAY WITH THE POTTERS ALL YOU WANT, BUT WE'LL STILL LET YOU COME BACK AND WE'LL COME TO YOUR GRADUATION, AND OF COURSE WE DON'T CARE WHETHER YOUR FRIENDS ARE PUREBLOODS OR NOT, THAT'S DUMB."

That wasn't what she said.

'YOU DISGUST ME! YOU DISGUST YOUR FATHER! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO YOUR FAMILY AND YOU WILL BE A DISAPPOINTMENT TO EVERYONE WHO EVER HAS THE MISFORTUNE TO KNOW YOU -"

"REDUCTO!"

Sirius was drowning so deeply in his mother's words that he hadn't realized James was on his feet until James pointed his shaking wand at the letter. "REDUCTO!" He screamed again, louder even than Mrs. Black, "STUPEFY! EXPULSO!"

Cursing a Howler turned out to be a very bad move.

Suddenly there was not one mother screaming that Sirius had brought dishonor on her family but fifty, and they had lifted off the table, flying in a circle around his head, larger and louder than before.

James cowered. He whispered something, maybe 'I'm so sorry,' judging by his lips, but Sirius couldn't hear a word of it. When she finally stopped, and it took much longer this time, nobody made a joke.

***

The third owl landed in the middle of the salad at dinner and immediately took a shit.

Horrified, Sirius tried to grab the letter, but before he could reach, Euphemia Potter stood up and grabbed the whole bird by a wing.

"Right," she snapped, "This is getting out of hand." She picked the bird up, Howler still attached, and carried it through the house to the front door. James, Sirius, and Fleamont ran after her just in time to see her pop open the seal on the letter without taking it off the owl's foot, swing the poor animal around her head once, twice, three times, then release, watching the poor squawking owl (now-yelling Howler still in tow) go soaring over the hedge like a garden gnome, too dizzy even to flap its wings.

The boys turned to each other in awe, and Fleamont grinned, wrapping an arm around each of them and whispering: "Minnie McGonagall was four years behind us in school. Worshipped Euphemia like a goddess."

When Euphemia walked back in the door, James snapped to attention and gave her a soldier's salute, and Sirius pretended to play a horn to serenade her in. They pivoted to process back into the kitchen in front of her, conjuring an actual horn (Sirius) and a pair of cymbals (James) on the way, on which they attempted to play a soldier's march, although they kept breaking off to cackle.

They didn't give it up until they'd marched her through the whole downstairs twice, and when they finally stopped, she couldn't seem to get the corners of her mouth to turn down again. Instead she put her hands on her hips, cocked an eyebrow at James and demanded, "So. Still think I'm not a cool enough mum?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Reviews are invisible marching bands :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Howdy, Moony!_

_Do you think I can pull off starting letters with “howdy”? Don’t answer that, I’ll ask Pete. He’ll say yes._

_Anyway, for the rest of the summer when you write to me you have to tell Muggsy to fly in my bedroom window right at 5PM, or I won’t get it (and Mug will come back smelling faintly of bubotuber pus). It’s a long story._

_No, it’s not. Padfoot moved in with me because his mum sucks one. She’s been sending him daily Howlers, which my mum’s been chucking over the back fence, but “what’s the point of marrying rich if I can’t let my muscles atrophy?” So the new plan is Confunding Charms and bubotuber pus, and I’m to tell my mates._

_Also, you’re spending the week here starting tonight. I’ve sent this after five, so if you write back to say you’re not coming I won’t get it, and if you stand me up without sending word, that’d make you a shit friend, I’d feel utterly betrayed, never want to see you again, etc., etc._

_Bring your broom!_

_Prongs_

_P.S. For the record, I’m not trying out ‘howdy’ because Evans likes rugged American men. On a totally unrelated note, what do you know about John Wayne?_

Remus was grinning by the time he finished James’s letter, but a single glance at his anxious mother wiped all amusement from his face. The letter had arrived only an hour before the sun went down and the full moon replaced it. They were on their way to check into the werewolf wing at St. Mungo’s.

“What is it?” his mother asked quietly, one foot shaking very slightly. She always got nervous hours before sundown on these nights, as if Remus might suddenly wolf out in the living room just for kicks.

She would never say it aloud, but Remus knew she was upset that he had even stopped to open James’s note. Matilda Lupin loved her son, but right now she wanted him in chains.

“It’s nothing. Just James saying hi,” Remus said quietly, tossing the letter in the wastepaper basket. It was kind of James to offer but…no, actually, it was stupid and irresponsible of James to offer. What if Remus hurt Mr. or Mrs. Potter? How would he ever forgive himself?

Running around with them at Hogwarts was one thing…or was it? After the first time they’d successfully transformed last year, he’d taken it for granted. He’d been so caught up in the excitement of not being alone that he’d let them all put themselves, and everyone else at Hogwarts, in danger for him. What kind of selfish, thoughtless _monster_ would let his friends—

_Tap-tap!_

Jerked out of his reverie, Remus looked up to see another owl standing on the windowsill, holding out a leg.

_Pity party time is over. Hop in the Floo, dipshit._

_Bold of you to assume this is even about the moon. Prongs has written Evans a bloody love letter, and he needs you to proofread. It contains the phrase “shimmy down to bangtown,” which I think hits the Quaffle of courtship right through the center hoop, but he reckons you may feel differently. _

_You’d be selfish not to come._

_—Padfoot_

_P.S. I told this owl to deliver my note five minutes after you ignored Prongs’s. Give him a treat if he did it right, yeah?_

Remus’s lips had turned up again, and this time they refused to turn down. “Git,” he muttered, and did not remotely mean it.

“What was that one?” his mum’s foot was practically jiggling now.

“I…” _Could he really_ … _no. But_ … _bloody_ hell, _no! Reckless and stupid, the pair of them. No matter how much he wanted to…_ no _._ “They’re just—just wishing me well. For tonight. I—let’s go now, before…” _before I change my mind_. “before any more—"

“MERLIN’S PANTS!” Matilda squawked, and yet another owl sailed through the still-open window.

_You have to come, Moony!_

_You don’t really think anything could happen, do you? Padfoot and Prongs would never let anybody get hurt. You have to come, because home’s soooooooo_ _boring without everybody. I miss you loads, and I want to see you, fangs and claws and all!_

_If I say it’s a good idea you have to agree, or else you’re less brave than me. Which you’re not._

_Pete_

_P.S. I’m here all week whether you come or not, and the lads are always nicer to me when you’re around, so seriously, please come._

_P.S.S. Siriusly_

_P.S.S.S. Heehee_

For a long moment, Remus didn’t move. Then he tucked the letter in his pocket and turned slightly away from his mother.

“Mum,” he began carefully, “it’s really sweet that you come with me to Mungo’s, but you don’t have to. I’ll be seventeen this year, I should be learning to go on my own.”

“Oh, honey—”

“Really,” Remus said. She paused, wavered. She hated the werewolf wing, and why shouldn’t she? Every month, she watched her only son get chained to his bed alongside a dozen poor, scarred, and cynical wizards and witches who showed her exactly what was in store for the rest of Remus’s life. She picked him up in the morning covered in self-inflicted wounds.

“Honestly,” Remus let a bit of pain ease into his voice, “I’d rather you not come. Not see me…like that, you know?”

“I…if that’s what _you_ want,” said Matilda Lupin in a very small voice.

“It is,” Remus said firmly. He grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder and left the living room for the kitchen, which held the house’s only functioning fireplace. He closed the door firmly behind him. He threw the powder into the flames, and the fire blazed green.

Tomorrow he would feel guilty. Tomorrow he would figure out a lie to tell his parents. Or, maybe, hopefully, tomorrow he would be a Gryffindor and tell his friends they had to stop transforming for him. Tomorrow he’d chain himself up in the hospital and wake up bloody.

Tonight, Moony would romp with Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

“Potter Manor,” he said, quiet but clear, into the flames.

***

It took less than a day (and four bottles of Firewhiskey) to prove Sirius honest about the love letter.

The Marauders assembled in James’s bedroom, recuperating from the previous night’s adventure. Sirius had somehow draped himself across the entire king-sized bed, despite being neither the owner of the room nor the person recovering from transforming into a vicious monster against his will. Remus and Peter sat on the floor below. James stood by his desk, clutching a piece of parchment very tightly.

“I’ve done a thing,” James informed his friends. “Padfoot said it was witty and charming—"

“I said passable, if desperate.”

“—but he’s an unreliable narrator.”

“Yeah? Then your hair looks great today.” James flipped him the bird.

“I shall be sending Evans a letter,” James announced grandly. Peter gasped, Remus sighed, Sirius rolled his eyes. “Since it is­­— _ahem—_ extraordinarily witty and charming, I do not expect to need much assistance.” Sirius snorted loudly. “I’ve decided to bestow upon you all the privilege of hearing it aloud, however, since I know how invested you all are in my romantic quest.”

But James had barely finished reading out the salutation –" ' _O Evans, purveyor of all that is excellent in my life (except a really corking corned beef sandwich I made myself this morning, but it's gone now so we're back to square one)_ ' "– when things started to go wrong.

"Huh." He looked at the letter. He looked up at Moony. He shot a nervous glance at Padfoot. "You know, I'm not so sure I should read this bit aloud after all…"

"The ' _bulbous bulging bollocks_ ' bit?" Sirius recalled fondly, "But that's the best part!"

"Oh, Merlin." Remus looked for something hard to bang his head against and, failing that, kicked Sirius hard in the shin. "Rule of thumb: anytime you write a letter to Lily, make a draft, ask Padfoot for his favorite line, and then cut that whole paragraph."

'Right. I'll do that for anyone I respect, actually-"

" _Oi!_ "

"Consider it a compliment. You're useful. So, the next paragraph. Okay. ' _I write only for your convenience_ ' – that's so she knows I live to serve –

"Hah! You live to wank."

Sirius and Remus both laughed and Peter nearly fainted from pride.

"I LIVE TO SERVE! Continuing. ' _You see, in the event that you should find yourself desperate to write me a sonnet or similar ballad to indicate your affection' –_ I'm making clear that I pay attention to her, 'cause I've noticed her favorite way to reject me is in verse –"

"Well, golly, good thing you put that in, or Evans might think you don't even know she exists! Merlin and Agrippa, everything in this letter sounds so much worse now that I know your barmy motivations-"

"Can it, Dogbreath. – ' _I shouldn't like it to get lost in the heap of all my other fan mail. Thus for reasons pertaining mostly to the aforementioned fan mail, the Potter family has decided to accept correspondence only through the northwest chimney during the time from 17:00 to 17:10 every day this summer_ -"

"Look," Sirius cut in, sounding pained, "I've suffered in silence so far," (the other three snorted in disbelief) "but is no one going to comment on 'aforementioned'? 'Accept correspondence'? _'Seventeen_ o'clock'? When precisely, Prongs, did you become Ernest fucking Hemingway?"

"Hemingway?" Remus cried, devastated by his friend's imperfect knowledge of dead American Muggle novelists. "Padfoot, Hemingway writes like a drunk Peter. If he strings seven words and a comma together in a sentence, he pats himself on the back –"

"Hey!"

"Don't bother, Pete, might as well come to terms with the fact you'll never have my _je ne sais quoi_ with a quill." James said sagely, failing to smother a grin as he squatted on the floor, cupped Peter's chin in his hands and stroked it like a simpering mother.

"Why should I say 'quah'?" Peter tried to ask, but Remus mercifully distracted everyone from this shocking bit of stupidity by recommencing his telling off of Sirius.

"—which you'd know, if you ever bothered to read."

Sirius grinned, tossed his gleaming hair out of his eyes, and spread his arms wide like some sort of insufferable prince, demanding, "Why should I? I'm top of the class without—EEEEEEEE!" He broke off to squeal very effeminately as he was hit simultaneously with a fist to the head and a hex to the arse that caused it to sprout lush golden fur. Sirius' new status (he had usurped James after OWLs) was a source of great indignation for both Remus, who worked much harder than Sirius, and James, who didn't but was exactly as effortlessly clever and knew it.

Having ensured that his best mate was sufficiently furry and congratulated Remus on a well-delivered punch, James continued to read, in what he seemed to believe was a dignified voice, ' _-17:00 to 17:10 every day this summer, and all owls that arrive at any other times will be turned away, their proclamations of undying love regrettably unread.'_

 _'I am informing you, along with a select few others, in order to ensure that the letters you will surely wish to send do not become lost in the cacophony.'_ – See what I did there? Toss in a bit of jealousy, but not too much, you know, that's why I say 'select few'-"

"Would you finish the damn letter, you _absolute_ tosser?" roared his furious best mate, who had by this time tried seven countercurses and had only succeeded in turning the hair on his bum a royal purple.

"Testy, are we, Blueberry Bottom?" James inquired genially, but he read out the end of the letter all the same:

“’ _Until 17:00, my beloved estranged darling,_

_James xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

  1. _Sirius suggested adding some o's, so as to seem less creepy, but I feared you might misconstrue that as brotherly affection, and there is nothing brotherly about the things I'd like to do to you. All my non-fraternal love, James xx.'"_



For a long moment, no one spoke. Finally James, always incapable of handling suspense, burst out, "Well, Moony?"

Remus looked at the other three boys, all of whom were awaiting his judgment (Peter eagerly, James anxiously, Sirius only because he knew James wouldn't tell him how to remove the fur until the letter was set right) and sighed in a sort of exasperated admiration. "Writing to tell her how to send you love letters when she has never in her life wanted to send you so much as a dung beetle…no one can say you don't have balls, James."

***

Two days after the letter, half-rewritten by a very harried Remus Lupin, winged its way to Lily Evans, an envelope fell through the chimney at 5:07 PM addressed to James Potter by the girl in question.

_Oh, how I've missed you, Potter!_

_..._

_Now that you've presumably recovered from having fainted dead away at that shock, let me clarify that Mary and Marlene are out of the country and my parents are gallivanting through Morocco rediscovering their youth. This has restricted my company over the past week to Snivellus, Petunia, and Petunia's boyfriend, a man who once devoted three actual hours to explaining to me why red-haired women are genetically predisposed toward slaggishness._

_Or is it slaggery?_

_Vernon Dursley preferred to use the term 'promiscuity', which I will never forget because every time he said it a bit of spittle flew out of his mouth onto the tablecloth and/or my blouse until he had crafted a sort of saliva Jackson Pollock._

_In short, I need to find something really spiteful to do to him, ideally without using magic and getting myself booted from Hogwarts, and you, Captain Detention, are precisely the person to provide the plan. Since you clearly had the time to whip out a thesaurus for every other word in your last letter, I take it you have nothing to do and I expect a detailed and sophisticated plot by return owl._

_LE oo (but only because if I don't transfer Dursley's saliva from my shirt to someone else's soon I may catch whatever disease made him such a filthy git)_

  1. _Will this do for a ballad?_



_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_I used to want a brother,_

_And then I met you._

* * *

"Y'know," James announced a month later, pointing an unsteady finger at Sirius and nodding sagely, "Irony."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "…exists?"

"Shhhh-zhhhh-shush. List'n. I have discovered…irony. So list'n. You're m'brother. But, technically…you're not my brother, because you're a Black. And I'm not. But also, if you were my brother, you would be black, like me. You're Black," he singsonged, "and I'm not Black. But I'm black, and you're not black. That's fuckin' funny!" James gave a great shout of laughter, and Sirius snorted too despite himself.

Clearly, Prongs was blotto. That should've been weird, because Sirius was barely tipsy, but tonight it was Phase One of The Plan.

Time for Phase Two.

"So, mate," Sirius began, again draped across James' bed while its owner sprawled on the floor below him, "We never did get around to putting edibles in Minnie's biscuit tin last spring like we had planned. You know," he added innocently, "what with staging the concert instead."

"The concert…" James didn't seem ready to bite, so Sirius piled it on thicker.

"Yeah, come to think of it…why did we do the concert? I mean, not that I didn't enjoy grinding on you on top of the Slytherin table at the end-of-year feast while wearing black leather pants and singing Muggle rock, but it really wasn't as funny as McGonagall stoned would've been…why'd we finish off the year like that?"

"Had to. F'r Evans." Hook, line, and sinker.

"WHAT?!" Sirius dramatically rolled over to stare down at James, grabbing at his own chest in feigned astonishment. "EVANS? I crooned four verses of "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" while dressed as Paul McCartney so you could impress a girl?"

He was probably having a bit too much fun with this. But he didn't feel guilty; his main plan was disgustingly considerate. It was only fair that he at least enjoy it.

"Not impress her! Just wanted t'make her laugh."

"Er – okay..."

"She hadn't since the—with Snivellus—you know. And- and- and she makes flower crowns for the first years!"

"What?"

"She's got - Hagrid's garden – daisies – and she puts 'em in the crowns, you know, and she knows all the first years' names, and she gives 'em to 'em. Not even jus' the Gryffindor midgets, all of 'em! When she's happy."

Merlin's bloody handlebar moustache. "How does that relate-?"

"She should be happy. Should laugh. Fuckin' Snivellus."

"Well," Sirius conceded, trying to smile, "I reckon you did a bang-up job. Laughed so hard she snorted a pea out her nose, I saw it."

"Yeah," James grinned dazedly, "yeah, and then she caught it in her mouth. Fuckin' brilliant, Evans."

"Was thinking nasty as fuck, myself, but, sure, mate."

"Don' call her that!"

"Right." As if Sirius wasn't already biting his tongue to avoid calling her a whole lot worse.

The thing was, Sirius Black really, really did not like Lily Evans. He didn't care what James or Remus or every teacher in the bleeding school saw in her. She had committed, over and over again throughout the last five years, two mortal sins: stopping him from having a laugh and hurting James Potter.

Still, even he, who thought anyone willing to pal around with Snivellus Snape was digging their own grave and ought to lie in it, empathized with Evans's anger over that friendship's awful, public end. Which was why he was frankly baffled when she answered James' letter in a tone bordering on friendly.

After James sent her back a perfectly-crafted prank the very same day and received not even a word of thanks in return, Sirius was content to let his bafflement settle into righteous indignation. Unfortunately, James had been equally confused, and his confusion had seemed to morph into something alarmingly close to depression.

Sirius caught him multiple times staring off into space, jaw taut, totally unaware of anything going on around him, and from the vague hints he dropped he was psychoanalyzing every interaction he'd ever had with Evans. Sirius didn't know quite where these analyses ended up, but they all seemed to point pretty directly towards self-hatred.

"She ever write back to your second letter?" Sirius asked, totally casual. He had a gift for pretending not to give a shit.

James shook his head. "Just the one."

"Kinda rude."

"Rude? More than I expected already. Prob'ly…prob'ly more 'n I deserved."

He could've run with that, but it wasn't the cue Sirius wanted. Wordlessly, he rolled another bottle of Firewhisky across the floor to his brother, not totally confident Prongs could catch it in the air at this stage. But of course, James The Chaser™ took offense, chucking it back at Sirius so suddenly that he ducked involuntarily and then laughing loudly at him for trying to protect his precious hair.

Fine, then. Prongs could take his sweet time, for all Sirius cared. Somewhere in the back of Sirius' brain, the alcohol had been fermenting a half-baked idea for a prank, and he started to talk it through aloud.

It was designed for that one prick from Eeylops' who once called Remus a swot (which James and Sirius did on a daily basis, but, like, they didn't mean it). It involved a niffler, two Knuts, and a Muggle invention called a bicycle, and see, what we're gonna do is put the niffler –

"Heresathing." Finally. Sirius shut up.

Heresathing started the first time they got plastered, when they were thirteen. Somehow, the two boys had wound up half-naked inside a secret passageway they hadn't known existed, whisper-yelling a song they were making up as they went along. The song detailed the many adventures of Gregory the Smarmy, whose mouth they were sitting inside. The fact that neither boy knew anything about Gregory or even what smarmy meant didn't seem very relevant.

Sirius stopped singing in the middle of the chorus ("Aaaaaand theeeeey chopped off his arm, with a smarm, smarm, smarm, but he stuck it back on, with a charm, charm, charm, but when he looked at it, he became alarmed, for he'd put it on upside doooooowwwwwwwwn") and said, "Here's a thing: you're the bes' thing 'at ever happen'a me."

And James said, "Here's a thing: me too." It almost meant more, from him, because a lot more good things had happened to James.

Now heresathing means cashing in on best mate privileges. Or something. Best not to overanalyze.

"Heresathing," James said, lying on the floor of his room three years later, and of all the things Sirius expected to hear about her, about that day, about the letters, what came out was: "I wish she didn't call him Snivellus. That's the kind of shit we do, you know? I wish…She's better than that."

Sirius didn't even blink. "Better? Bullshit. I reckon she only answered you to get revenge on him, mate."

James nodded, and Sirius didn't miss the tightened jaw or the angry eyebrow crease that accompanied it. But he wouldn't be Sirius Black if he told people the shit they wanted to hear. He waited as James chugged half the bottle and then gasped a little.

Finally, James breathed out the words this whole night had been about. "Sometimes I wish I never met Evans 'cause then she'd be happier. That make me pathetic?"

"Nah," Sirius whispered. "Just wrong."

"Heh?" Whatever James had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"You make her laugh, mate." This was his moment, and he was going to take it. He had slid half-off the bed, and his face was only a foot from James'. "When you're not bein' a berk-"

"So a solid ten percent of the time, then-"

Sirius grinned. "Hey, don't sell yourself short. Twenty, easy, when Wormtail's not around to egg you on," James laughed. "When you're not being a berk, you make her happy. But that's not – that doesn't mean – you put Evans on a pedestal, mate, and I never understood it. You're plenty good enough for her. She’s not good enough for you."

"The fuck, man? You were on board with this. You were all for me sendin' that letter, cheered me on like fuckin' Wormtail."

"One: Don't ever compare me to Peter again, Potter, have you seen that filthy yellow mop he calls hair? And two: Yeah, I did. Your Evans thing was good for a laugh. But you're not laughing anymore, mate."

"No," James said quietly, "I'm not. But maybe I shouldn't be. I was - what we did to Snape was shitty, Sirius. Prob'ly a lot of what we do to him."

"Snape's a Death Eater-in-training, mate. He curses people from behind, he hurts them when they're down. He'd kill us, if he could get away with it."

James looked at Sirius, eyes blazing. "Yeah. Maybe. But that's not why we do it, is it?"

Sirius broke eye contact first, turning away to scan the room. Maybe it wasn't, but he didn't see the problem. James was just too caught up in Evans and her goody-two-shoes love for everybody. Snape was a greasy piece of shit; when they jinxed him, they got a laugh, and a piece of shit suffered. Where was the harm? He didn't need to say that out loud, though, James knew how he felt. He'd felt the same way until that fucking letter changed things. All Sirius could do was hope James came to his senses.

Sirius' eye caught on a Quidditch poster on their wall, and he turned back to his brother. "You're a good person, Prongs. Now, d'you reckon the Cannons would've taken the league if Umbarger hadn't woken up in Nigeria halfway through the season thinkin' he was a bowtruckle?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I have very mixed feelings about this chapter and would very much like your input, positive or negative. Also, if anyone has too much time on their hands, I would really love a beta to bounce chapters off of :)


End file.
